Huddling For Warmth
by peacock-knees
Summary: John begins to fall for Sherlock, and decides to move out to avoid any more awkwardness... (Um.. just another generic fic? Idk I just really wanted to write it, split into v. short chapters) Based on Conclusions by Bexless: /works/230917 Might be a final epilogue containing smut at some point...
1. Chapter 1

'I'm home' John came up the stairs and proceeded to bustle around in the kitchen, carefully moving various science equipment and putting away the shopping. At first the cupboards had been organised , but when living with Sherlock it was pointless to try and keep it up. He sighed, there were five live rats in a jar under the sink, he picked it up and snuck towards the stairs 'It's an experiment, John' Damn. Every time. 'Fine, I just don't want them under the sink, okay? Also, I think it's probably a bit cruel to have them in this jar.' He came into the living room and looked at Sherlock, taking him in, he was sat staring at the wall, his eyes had a glazed look about them. He was facing the fire and the flicker of orange light danced over his sharp features. For the third time that week John thought how beautiful Sherlock was, he was an idiot, but a beautiful one. 'Sherlock, I'm serious' He frowned as Sherlock completely ignored him, 'Sherlock! Listen to me! Get a proper hutch, or whatever it is you keep rats in, or I'll set them free.'

'You've ruined the experiment by moving them now anyway' Sherlock continued to look straight at the wall, as if analysing the wallpaper.  
John decided releasing them was maybe a bad idea, so he took them to a pet store - luckily the owner was quite happy to give them a home. When he returned Sherlock was in the exact same position. 'You haven't even moved since I left.'  
'You left?' And so life in 221B continued.

John and Sherlock continued to gallivant around London, and they were solving crimes by the bucket load. The thrill of the chase and the excitement of the mystery were enthralling to John, and he followed Sherlock around in awe, as usual. They spent less and less time at 221B and started taking more and more cases, Sherlock's website was constantly being contacted for help, as was John's. His blog now had a very wide readership, and their recent cases had attracted quite a lot of media attention lately.  
John was worried, although he was always worried about Sherlock, he decided that they needed to keep out of the news for a while, and take some smaller cases. Sherlock was puzzled when John broached the subject with him.

'Why do you care what people think of me?' He asked, looking slightly agitated, but there was a hint of confusion in his features. John just looked at Sherlock and sighed. 'because you're my friend' and I care about you more than you could possibly know, he added in his head.  
Someone wanted to get Sherlock's attention, they had been leaving 'clues' for him around London and texting him from various unknown numbers. Sherlock had been bored that week, no 'interesting' cases. He had been complaining vehemently about the dullness of everything, and then suddenly there was a trail for him to follow.

Obviously Sherlock jumped at the chance of something 'fun' and was soon knee deep in the mystery. The clues seemed to point to an empty house, hidden in the backstreets of London. John accompanied him to visit and when they arrived the door was hanging off its hinges and the garden was a jungle; brambles, nettles and all manner of prickly plants were fast engulfing the house. Immediately Sherlock had noticed that there was a path, not leading from the front gate, but round the side of the house, someone had cut down the plants in order to gain access to the house. Inside there was mould growing up the walls and a dank smell filled the air, it was damp and deathly cold. They searched the ground floor and found nothing, not any furniture, not even an obvious kitchen. Sherlock progressed upstairs and John followed him, putting his hand on the banister but removing it instantaneously as his palm came into contact with something wet and disgusting.

There was nothing on the 1st floor and John was willing to give up, but then Sherlock spotted something, a hatch to the attic. It was clean, well cleaner than the rest of the house, and a pair of footprints showed in the grime on the floor, just underneath it.  
Sherlock pulled the trapdoor open and paused. John glanced up into the darkness, he couldn't see a thing, but at least that meant that there was no one home…

A ladder was slightly protruding from the hole in the ceiling and Sherlock gently slid it down and proceeded to climb up into the dark. John apprehensively followed. Suddenly the room was lit up and John was momentarily stunned, his eyes adjusted and he saw Sherlock standing next to a light switch, and then he took in the rest of the room, it was Green. Bright lime green. There was a large bed in the corner of the room and a chest of drawers beside it that looked like it also functioned as a bedside table. On the other side of the room there was a sofa and a large chest that Sherlock was now looking into, it contained food; crisps and chocolate and other snacks. There was a large rug covering almost the entire floor and a small writing desk was positioned just to the left of the trap door.

'Does someone live up here?' John asked, still taking in the room.

'You tell me John, use your powers of deduction' Sherlock replied.  
'um.. Okay? Well there's food which would suggest so, but it's only snack food, you couldn't live on it, umm.. the room is relatively neat' by this time Sherlock was rifling through the drawers. 'Um.. a young person, a girl? I.. I don't know Sherlock'

'Not bad John' Sherlock said with a hint of amusement in his voice 'You actually noted something of use, although everything else you said was… average. You're quite right, a teenager, I'd guess about 16 years old from the magazines under the bed, a girl, judging from the knick knacks and the clothes, she's just finished her GCSE exams, hard time at home, history of depression, self harm…' As Sherlock continued talking John watched him in awe, the way he deduced, how he talked so fast when he was working something out, the way his eyes were alight when he was on a case.. 'John are you even listening to me' John came back to reality.

That night John dreamt of Sherlock, his perfect cupid's bow mouth, his soft curls, his milky skin, how alive he was on a case, god that man… he woke up suddenly, hard and desperate and came as soon as he got his hand wrapped round his dick.  
'Shit' he breathed, he got out of bed to clean himself up. He slid back under the covers and decided to he would pretend this had never happened. _Sherlock will know though, he always knows._


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning John tried his best to act like everything was normal, Sherlock was sat at the kitchen table in his blue dressing gown reading the paper and subconsciously tapping his fingers in a rather annoying melody. 'John, you're up, I made tea' John hesitated for a moment and then muttered something about shopping and dashed out of the flat, stepping outside only to realise he was still in his pjs, he headed to Sarah's hoping that he's got some clothes there.

'John, hi? Problems with Sherlock again?' Sarah said as she welcomed him in.

'No I, I was wondering if there were any of my clothes here?' He replied walking to the closet and finding a pair of jeans and a shirt. He stayed at Sarah's for a while, drinking tea and chatting, but mostly not to make it seem weird when he returned to 221B.

John avoided Sherlock for the rest of the day, and hid in his room, restlessly reading and thinking about the man downstairs. _That's it. _He decided that he just had to tell Sherlock, and face his 'Married to my work' wrath.

When John came downstairs Sherlock seemed to be nowhere in sight and it was dark in the living room_, okay, got to tell him _'Sherlock…' 'Yes?'

'SHIT! Jesus Christ, Sherlock, what are you doing fucking sitting in the dark?' John almost jumped out of his skin and as he switched on the light he can see Sherlock perched on a chair in the kitchen.

'If you didn't know I was there why were you talking to me?' Sherlock asked, he tilted his head to the side quizzically. 'I was.. practising'

'Practising saying my name?' he frowned.

'I.. um.. I was going to ask you something, well I.. I thought, maybe I could start publishing our cases, in the newspaper, I mean, do you mind, I thought, maybe I should get your permission?'

'Why did you have to practice?' John sat opposite Sherlock at the table and looked down at his hands. He looked back up and caught Sherlock watching him, he held his gaze and John could feel those icy blue eyes analysing his every movement. Still Sherlock didn't look away, and John had to.

'I thought maybe, maybe you would think it was stupid…'

'No, it's… fine, go ahead' Sherlock said, he seemed almost pleased.

'Oh okay, um.. great. Well it was Sarah's idea'

'It was Sarah's idea? Right' Sherlock yawned the fakest yawn that John had ever seen and then said 'I'm tired, going to bed, uh… night.' And with that he left John standing in the kitchen alone.

John and Sherlock didn't really see each other for about a week after that, which in John's opinion wasn't a bad thing, he went out to work, and took on a couple of extra hours at the surgery. 'Trouble in Paradise?' Sarah asked, 'Huh, what?' John looked up from the records he was reading.

'You and Sherlock, did you have a fight or something? You're at the surgery an awful lot these days, and you seem to be terribly morose' she looked amused, but there was a hint of concern in her eyes. John considered for a moment before answering 'I haven't really seen him that much, you know how he is' he paused, everyone knew that Sherlock had an antisocial side 'and I think I offended him the other day, when I said that publishing our cases was your idea'

'You— okay' Sarah sighed slightly and went back to writing. John didn't really know what that was about but decides not to ask.

He was sitting around in his office dreading going home when the phone rang, he picked it up, thankful for a reason to still be there. 'Hello?'

'Hey John, it's Lestrade, I was just wondering, um… are you and Sherlock.. are you okay? He's been moping around and you haven't been at a crime scene for over a week, he's been pestering Myc… I mean Mycroft, and Molly called me earlier to say he had been complain… had been talking about you'

'He was talking about me?' John realised he sounded a little too eager, and toned it back a bit 'Um.. What?'

'I don't know, you tell me, you live with him…'

'I haven't really seen him, I, I have to go, see you around Greg' John felt like a bit of an asshole now.

When John got home the flat was quiet Sherlock was nowhere in sight, John decided to call truce, well not truce because they weren't fighting, but he needed to put an end to whatever _this _was. He went straight up to his room to get changed and when he came back downstairs on the kitchen table there was a mug of tea and some bags, of what appeared to be Indian takeaway.

'Sherlock?' John called, the detective appeared from inside his room and stood, looking rather sheepish. John took a sip of tea and realised it was his favourite, 'Sherlock, you got me Cardamom tea… you can only get it in one place in London' John paused and looked at the man standing across from him, he was sort of leaning in on himself, as though shy, and his body language was screaming let me leave.

'Thank you, I love it.'

'I know.'

'Of course you do, are you joining me for dinner?'

'No, I'm on a case… I don't eat on cases it—'

'slows you down… I know, but please, eat with me, you need to eat' John says all this whilst getting out plates and cutlery, and beginning to unpack the various takeaway dishes in their foil packaging. 'Please Sherlock, just a little bit, there's enough for four people here…'

Sherlock walked over and sat down at the table, he looked reluctant but John could see he was just acting. As they sat down to eat they didn't really talk, John tried to make conversation, but Sherlock was unresponsive, and only giving up one word answers. 'Um… so I was wondering, for this newspaper thing, I will need a pen name, and er… so will you, I don't really want to draw attention to us, but I think I could make some real money from publishing our stories, what do you think.' Sherlock looked up and met John's eyes for a long moment. 'How about John Smith, for me, and… Edward … Brown' 'The Adventures of John Smith, by Edward Brown… it works. I used to have a friend who went by that name, John Smith…' Sherlock smiled at the thought that John had accepted his suggestion and took another bite of food, without playing with it on his plate before raising it to his mouth this time. John acknowledged thar and smiled slightly, he could practically _feel _the tension between them ebbing away.


	3. Chapter 3

It was January time and it was growing ever colder in Britain. They had a fire in the hearth almost every day and the rest of the country was blanketed in snow. The snow in London began on a Friday night, covering the roads and houses and making the city feel soft and quiet.

'John' Sherlock whispered. 'John' he stuck out a hand and prodded John's side, John groaned 'What?' he opened his eyes slightly and rolled over to look at the clock. 'Sherlock it's 2am'

'It's freezing John, the heating is non functional.' John noticed for the first time how cold it was, in fact it was more than cold it was glacial, Sherlock was stood near the bed, cocooned in a blanket. 'Get up and sort it out' there was a slightly whiny tone in Sherlock's voice.

'Okay okay, hold on, I've got nothing on' Sherlock continued to stand by the bed, waiting. John sat up with his sheet wrapped around him. 'Sherlock, I'm naked.'

'And?'

'Leave.' Sherlock shuffled out and John noticed how his hair stuck up at the back, he looked sleepy and adorable, all wrapped up in his blanket. He chastised himself: not adorable, he's your flatmate, your very male, very out of reach flatmate.

'I can't believe you were asleep John.'

'Yes well, I suppose my room must be warmer.' They both padded downstairs, legs restricted by the blankets they had strategically encased themselves with. Mrs Hudson was away at her sisters at the moment so they couldn't even ask her. They went to check the boiler.

'Well it's not doing anything.'

'Brilliant deduction John.'

'Look Sherlock, it's 2am, I've just got up, and there is nothing I can do at this very moment' he sighed and rubbed one eye 'I'll call someone in in the morning' Sherlock turned at stomped off up the stairs and John wandered back up behind him. When he got into the kitchen Sherlock was putting on the kettle. 'Coffee?' Did John want to go back to bed? Well it wasn't likely at this temperature… he might as well. 'Yes please.' Sherlock started back into his room and then turned back, 'Will you be okay? I've got an extra blanket, if you need one…' John considered for a moment asking Sherlock to sleep in his bed tonight, and then stopped.

'I'm not going to sleep after I drink this anyway… I'm gonna see what's on TV' Sherlock stopped for a minute and looking like he was weighing up his options, he decided to join John in the living room.

They brought their coffee into the living room and sat at opposite ends of the sofa, John got up and turned the TV on, it seemed too loud when the news started blasting out, but the remote was nowhere to be found so he left it. He settled back down and although there was plenty of room on the seat, found Sherlock surprisingly close to him, he decided he should definitely not be doing this, but fuck it, it was stupid o'clock in the morning, and it's not as if Sherlock was resisting, he cuddled up to Sherlock, and his last thought before he fell asleep was that he was finally warm.

_Bbbzzztttt, Bbbzzztttt. _John awoke with a start. He felt warm, but a bit squashed. As he woke up properly he realised that the warm feeling was coming from the now stirring Sherlock, who was led half on top of him, and they were folded into their tiny sofa. Sherlock seemed to settle again with a sort of sigh, and John made a face as he attempted to wriggle out from underneath him in order to pick up his still buzzing phone. It was no use. Fine, if it was that important they could ring him back. He shifted slightly and got comfy again and slowly dropped back off to sleep.

John awoke painfully cold, and a weight seemed to have been lifted off his chest. He opened his eyes and noted that Sherlock was no longer on the sofa. The TV seemed to have been turned off as well. He got up and picked up his phone. 1 New Answer Phone message: Lestrade. He pressed call and put the phone to his ear. At this moment Sherlock came back into the sitting room, still wrapped in a blanket and with his hair ridiculously messy. He slumped down onto the sofa and curled his feet up underneath him. 'Are you calling a boiler man?'

'I will in just a minute, I'm just calling Greg back' Sherlock rolled his eyes, and John joined him again on the sofa, returning to the warmth that Sherlock seemed to emit. No answer from Lestrade, probably on a case. Ah well. John rang the boiler man, he had the number in his phone from the time Sherlock had spilled something corrosive on the floor that had seeped through and messed up the heating. 'Hello, yes, yes, our boiler has stopped, yes, oh, alright, no, no that's fine, alright, thank you, bye.' John chucked his phone back onto the armchair. 'Okay, so the good news is that they'll come and fix it, the bad news is that they won't be here for a few hours.' Sherlock scowled.

'Would you like a cuppa?' Sherlock nodded grudgingly and picked up a book. John got up to sort the tea. They spent the rest of the morning curled up on the sofa, drinking Earl Grey and eating hot soup and trying to keep their hands and arms warm whilst reading with them stuck out of the blankets. At 3pm the doorbell rang.

'That'll be the boiler man Sherlock, go and answer it will you?' Sherlock made a growling noise and John took that as a no, re assembling his blanket and pulling it tightly around him to go and answer the door. As the boiler man entered the flat he eyed the nest they had made on the sofa and looked up at John, who offered him a cup of tea and then showed him downstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day London was clear enough of snow that John was able to go out, he did some shopping and then he had to go to a meeting about the publishing of his writing. He popped home to drop off the groceries and didn't see Sherlock before he went off to the publisher's.

He had three missed calls, all from Sherlock, he called him back as he hailed a cab. 'Sherlock is everything okay?'

'Your sister came over, she was drunk, I told her you weren't in and she said 'I know.' I assume she came to survey me, and I think she may have a crush on me…which would not make any sense as she is attracted to females.'

'Oh she was probably just checking up that I wasn't living with some weirdo or something' to himself John thought _of course she's got a crush on you, who hasn't? _but out loud he said 'Was she over friendly then? Sorry'

'It's okay, how did the meeting go?'

'Um.. fine I think, looks promising, I'll be home in a bit, I just have to go to the bank.' Sherlock hung up, he had a habit of ending phone conversations like that, no goodbye, just a beep as the line went dead.

When John got home Sherlock was sat in his armchair nonchalantly reading a book, he looked up when John entered and he noticed a glint in his eye, John wandered into the kitchen, stripping off his coat, and then saw on the kitchen table, instead of the pile of science equipment that usually swamped it, a bunch of balled up pieces of paper. 'What's this Sherlock?' As walked back into the living room Sherlock looked down, almost nervously, and then said 'I was composing… I've written you a song, John. Would you like me to play it for you?' John nodded and sat in his armchair, Sherlock practically leapt up and grabbed his violin. The song he played was beautiful and John absolutely loved it. When he was finished John had to stop himself from rushing over and kissing him. After John had repeated over and over how much he loved it, Sherlock had to go out, 'business' apparently. John led on the sofa, replaying the song in his head.

_People probably don't write surprise songs for just anyone, _He thought, _but surely they don't also cuddle with that person on the sofa, surely._He fell asleep there looking up at the ceiling and dreamt of Sherlock, deciding that he would definitely make a move, at some point.


	5. Chapter 5

'Sherlock?' Sherlock was pacing outside John's room in the middle of the night, well.. it was 12pm, John was still awake, He was too nervous about the presentation of his writing tomorrow to sleep. The publisher's had dismissed the idea of the newspapers and suggested he just went straight ahead and wrote a book about it. They were also very particular about names, and had said that they wouldn't print it unless they were published under his own name, on the grounds that he "needed recognition"

'Yes?' Sherlock came over and climbed into bed with a surprised John 'Sherlo-'

'I sleep better when I'm with you, John' Sherlock said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world that two grown men would be sharing a bed. Not that John was going to complain.

John came to to his phone ringing. Again. He was planning to ignore it because he was so warm and comfortable and.. oh my god. Last night came flooding back to him. Sherlock was completely wrapped around him; gangly limbs were entwined with John's and his knees were bent, slotting them together like puzzle pieces. As he moved to reach his phone it abruptly stopped ringing, and Sherlock stirred, then John noticed something else, one of Sherlock's hands was draped harmlessly over his back, but the other, the other was _below_ the waistband of his pyjamas. Not touching anything, just cradling his hip, his fingertips lightly resting on his thigh. John was overcome by the warm feeling that you get after a sex dream, except this was _real._

Suddenly the phone rang again and Sherlock leapt to attention, whipping his hand out from John's pyjama bottoms. John answered the phone 'I'm sorry John, but where the _fuck_ are you?!' He looked over at the clock, oh shit. It was 11am, he should be at the surgery. He flew out of bed grabbing clothes and leaving Sherlock curled, no folded up, in his bed. 'I'm coming now.'

By the time John got to the surgery his warm glow had entirely worn off, he felt bad for being late for work, but he was feeling worse for just leaving Sherlock there in his bed. In the afternoon John went to the interview with the Amberley Press, they leapt on the idea and asked him to start writing right away, he gave them a short excerpt to read and they absolutely loved it. For a celebration he invited some friends down to the pub. Sherlock, obviously, Lestrade, who now came as a package with Mycroft -god knows how that worked- Sarah, Molly and Mike all came to give him congratulations.

Mike and John were just chatting and when Sarah arrived John jumped down off his stool to give her a hug, Sherlock suddenly strode through the door and John had to stop himself jumping to hug him. Sherlock looked disapprovingly at Sarah and took a seat furthest away from John, when Molly arrived Sherlock talked animatedly with her, and John just occupied himself with getting the dirt from Greg about his new relationship.

As Sherlock and John walked back to 221B John decided he had to say something, now was the time to do it. 'So… are you pleased for me?'

'Yes, it's… great.' Sherlock didn't seemed very enthused but John didn't push it. He decided to go down a different route. 'Sherlock, you know, you know when you know someone one way, and you, it's another way, but you're worried that the second way will ruin the first way?'

'How eloquently put John'

'No I mean, okay like Office Romance, where you know someone through work, and you decide you want to, ask them out, except then if you break up you still have to work with them…changing the dynamic'

'I've never worked in an office…' Sherlock replied, almost hesitantly. 'No, but you get what I'm trying to say? Sherlock, I just want to tell you, I—'

'I've got to…go' They were only a few paces away from their front door but Sherlock sprinted off and up the stairs. John stopped and then turned around, he headed back to the pub, where Mike and Sarah were still drinking, and John joined them, and then drank until he couldn't see.

He woke up on Sarah's sofa, with a sore neck and a splitting headache. He rubbed his temples and then looked round as Sarah walked into the room. 'You were really drunk last night John, we thought it was best if you came back here…' She didn't say anything but he could tell by the concerned look on her face that she was worried about him.

'No worries, thanks, I… I better be off.'

John walked home and wasn't surprised when he got back to the flat to find that Sherlock was holed up in his bedroom. _Well maybe that's better_ John thought. He went upstairs and got out his laptop, searching for flats available to rent


	6. Chapter 6

A few weeks later, after having an awkward dance of avoiding each other, John handed Sherlock a cheque. 'What's this?' Sherlock scanned the piece of paper, it was payable to him, but far too much to be rent. 'I… I'm moving out, I thought I'd give you a few months, because it might take you a while to find someone, a new flatmate, and I've got a flat, it's nice, a bit smaller than this, but… yeah.' John walked out, heading for work. 'I think we both need some space' he called behind him.

Sherlock sat for a while in the kitchen, he definitely didn't want John to go, all he could think to do was to beg him never to leave, so he kept his mouth shut. How was he supposed to find a new flatmate? Someone to replace John, he couldn't… and he didn't want to. He certainly didn't want any space, he wanted to be as close to John as humanly possible. At all times.

Avoiding Sherlock was pretty easy, until he started doing huge experiments in every room of the flat, John found mould experiments on the window sill in _his _bedroom, and Sherlock checking them at 2am. He was not amused.

He got a call from his new landlord saying that the flat was ready early, and decided to move right away. He had packed the majority of his possessions already, it was just a few clothes that were left to go in boxes.

'Sherlock I'm going to move early, I got a call this morning, the flat is ready, and I thought no time like the present. I'm going to go on Friday.' John walked around the living room picking up various books and papers and stacking them on the desk, and then collecting the discarded mugs of tea and taking them to the sink.

'Stop moving my things John' Sherlock hadn't seemed to have been listening, but now he frowned up at John from his upside down position on the sofa.

'Well don't worry, I'll be out of your hair soon enough, now go take a shower, you've been wearing those same pyjamas for three days.' Sherlock grimaced but didn't reply, or move for that matter. The atmosphere in the flat was tense and John decided to go out and get some shopping and as he headed out of the door he shouted back to Sherlock 'You'll have to start shopping for yourself you know.'

As John disappeared down the stairs Sherlock rolled over and frowned. He was trying to think of a way to make John stay, but he didn't know what he was doing, and John seemed to be perfectly happy moving out. Sherlock knew he had to do something though, he rolled off the sofa and picked up the phone, dialling Lestrade.

'Lestrade?'

'I haven't got any cases for you at the moment, unless you want to look over these cold cases or something?'

'No, I need your help'

'Sherlock? Are you alright, what's going on? Are you in dange—' Lestrade sounded almost panicky, but Sherlock cut him off with a annoyed 'No.' and then sighed and continued 'It's about John, he's moving out and I would like to arrange something to see him off, as I am not well versed in the social norms I was wondering if you could help me to organise something that John would enjoy.'

'Uh yeah, sure… Why don't you just have drinks at the flat? Invite everyone, like at Christmas? I'm sure John would appreciate a small gathering to send him on his way' He sounded a little dismayed but carried on planning the 'party' with Sherlock for another thirty minutes. When Sherlock got off the phone he was thoroughly tired of human interaction for one day, so he took a shower and retired to his bedroom to think.

He was led on his back on the side of his bed that wasn't covered in case files and papers, 'I've got it!' he exclaimed, snapping his eyes open. It was perfect, John was always so enthusiastic about having dinner, Sherlock could make dinner, it was only simple chemistry, and then John was sure to realise that leaving was the stupidest idea he had ever had, and he would stay.

'You want to make John dinner?' the DI said sceptically, '_YES! _Now tell me what his favourite food is.' Sherlock sounded like a frustrated teenager whose parents were annoying him.

'Spaghetti Bolognese I think Sherlock, are… are you sure you'll be alright cooking?'

'Don't be patronising Lestrade, afternoon.' Sherlock stalked out of the office and hailed a cab outside NSY. On the ride home he wrote a mental list of ingredients and plotted out the exact timing, he then rang around John's friends, telling them to tell him they were busy on Friday, if he asked, and simultaneously inviting them to the get together. He thought he had better invite Sarah but he didn't have her number, he made a mental note to get it from John's phone later.

When Sherlock rang Sarah later she was all too happy to come. 'He'll love that Sherlock, do you mind if I bring my new man?' Sherlock stopped and considered for a minute, how would John react? No, wait, it was the perfect way to force John to spend the evening sat with _him_. 'That'll be fine, see you there' Sherlock hung up and returned to the kitchen to complete the experiment he was holding, John had complained about it earlier when he had found 4 pigs' tongues sitting on a dish on the table.

'Who were you on the phone to?' John looked at Sherlock suspiciously from where he was sitting in his armchair. 'Molly, I had to check some things about some body parts she's obtaining for me, why?' Sherlock continued to look down at his experiment, keeping calm and cool, it was okay, John wouldn't suspect a thing. It was a Thursday night and John was usually out by now, curious. 'Oh…' John seemed subdued and went back to reading his book.

John wasn't really paying attention to what he was reading and he had read the same line over ten times, but not really absorbed it. 'John, you haven't turned the page in fifteen minutes' Sherlock had moved over to his armchair whilst John had been absorbed in his thoughts. He could feel Sherlock trying to deduce him, and felt a little uncomfortable under his piercing gaze. John looked up and his eyes met with the icy blue pools of the man opposite him, they stayed still, lost in each other's eyes for longer than John deemed to be 'just friends' but he shook himself out of it and got up. 'I'm just going for a walk' he blurted quickly and practically ran from the flat. Sherlock got up and watched John from the window, he stopped on the pavement outside the flat and just stood there for a moment, before seemingly deciding to walk off down Baker Street. _I love you. _Sherlock knew it was true, but it was a vulnerable thought, sentiment. He didn't really want to accept it, even less so because there was no definite reply of _I love you too._ He felt exposed and raw, but quickly plastered on a cold exterior when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Mycroft entered the flat and smiled, it seemed to be genuine enough, _curious, _he picked his way over the various scattered papers on the floor and then spoke 'I hear you're having a small arrangement for John's leaving, now that Gregory and I are a unit, I was wondering if it would be acceptable for me to attend.' Sherlock spun round and looked at Mycroft accusingly, 'You came all the way here, just to ask me that?'

'And to see if you're okay, dear brother.'

'I'm fine Mycroft, why wouldn't I be?' Sherlock scowled and noticed a hint of concern behind Mycroft's sharp façade 'You can come, now go away.' He picked up his violin and began plucking it violently, another strange look from Mycroft and then he turned and left. Sherlock picked up his bow and began to play a cold sharp tune.


	7. Chapter 7

John had been moping around the flat all day, he had taken up reading in his room, only to restlessly roll around on his bed trying to get comfortable. He gave up and slumped downstairs, it was approaching the evening and Sherlock was perched on the edge of his armchair, his fingers steepled under his chin. 'Get out' he barked.

'What? Sherlock…' John's brow crinkled. 'I need to go to my mind palace, so leave… do whatever it is you ordinary people do' John sighed and took his coat off the hook, _at least_, he supposed, _if I'm out of the house I won't be so painfully bored._

As soon as John was out of the house Sherlock sprang into action. He gathered the ingredients he'd stashed in his room, so as to make sure John didn't find them, and began preparing dinner. John wouldn't stay out for long and Sherlock knew it, he had to work fast. He put the pasta on and then made the sauce, he struggled cutting the tomatoes and made a note to buy chopped ones next time. _Next time, if there was a next time. _As the sauce cooked and the pasta came to the boil he laid the table, and then waited, he decided he'd text John to call him back, he didn't want him to be late after all …

_You can come back, if you wish. -SH_

_OK, be back in a bit -JW_

John had almost added kisses to that last message, luckily he realised before sending it, that could have been disastrous. He slowly plodded back towards the flat, taking his time and mulling over in his head whether to tell Sherlock what was going on, or leave him blissfully unaware. He approached the door of 221B and took a last breath of the fresh evening air before coming inside. He stopped in the hallway, something smelled amazing.

Jogging up the stairs John entered the flat to find Sherlock sat in the same position as before, yet now there were two bowls of Spaghetti Bolognese on the table, which was tidied and set properly. He looked at Sherlock, communicating with his eyebrows, What is going on?

Sherlock stood up and gestured towards the food 'I thought, seeing as you're leaving that we'd have dinner, I cooked, that is what friends do, is it not?' Sherlock sat down in his own chair and John followed, it truly smelt delicious. He dug in and boy was this good, John was pretty sure he hadn't ever tasted better.

'So all this time, I've been cooking for you, and buying us takeaway, when _you_ can cook like this…'

'It's simple chemistry John'

'It's bloody marvellous, that's what it is.' John ate ravenously and Sherlock picked at his food tentatively, as always. They talked a bit, but ended up falling into a companionable silence, until the doorbell rang.

'Who could that be? Probably door to door salesman or something…' John got up and went downstairs to get the door, and was surprised to find on the doorstep Molly, Greg, Mycroft and Mike, beaming. 'Surprise!' they shouted, and John welcomed them in, when he got back upstairs he raised his eyebrows at Sherlock who replied 'It is the social norm, is it not, to invite one's friends over for a leaving party?'

'I'm not going to the other side of the world Sherlock, just a few streets down…' But John smiled anyway. Sherlock smiled back, a genuine smile, and John decided that was a smile just for him.

The night progressed happily, and Sarah arrived at some point with her new boyfriend, they had drinks and chatted. Although, Sherlock kept glancing from John to Sarah, and back again - looking almost concerned, but then a second later he'd be his reserved self again. John was surprised as to how well Mycroft and Greg seemed to go together, Sherlock pointed out that domestic bliss must suit them as they'd both gained weight, but instead of being agitated Mycroft just laughed it off, prodded Greg in the belly and winked at him.

They had all had rather a lot to drink, and there was a warm feeling in throughout the flat, with people scattered about, chatting and eating nibbles Mrs Hudson had provided. Sherlock was sat in his armchair quietly and suddenly burst out 'John, don't leave'

John looked startled, and the rest of the room had fallen silent, everyone's eyes rested on them. 'Sherlock, I think you've had enough, I'll make you a cuppa, okay?'

'No, I don't want tea John.'

'Would you like something else?'

'NO.' Sherlock was now raising his voice. 'Well what _do _you want?!' John shouted back.

'I want to know why you're moving out!' Sherlock was looking him directly in the eyes and John didn't break eye contact, he could see in his peripheral vision that everyone was watching them, he decided to stay calm. 'You know why.'

'I want you to say it.'

'You really want to talk about this here?' John said calmly, his eyes were imploring, but Sherlock had clearly had too much to drink. 'Yes' He said staring John down 'I want to have it here.'

'Fine' John folded his arms and raised his voice 'Let's do it. Let's talk about how hard it is to live in a flat with someone you want and can't have. How hard it is to see them every day and not be able to touch them. How hard it is to be in love with someone who's _not in love with you._'

Sherlock thought for a moment about arguing that he's not that into John, but he knew it would be a blatant lie. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to have this conversation in front of everyone. Now they all know how pathetic he is. Wonderful. 'I can take it.' He said, trying to redeem himself, as he gritted his teeth.

'I can't' John stated simply. 'It's too hard.'

'What do you think I'm going to do, try and grope you?!'

'I don't know, that does seem to be your area!' John is fully shouting now. Sherlock's mouth hangs open, and then he looks ashamed. One of the onlookers gasps.

'That was an accident, I apologise.'

Lestrade looked incredulously between them 'You did what?'

'I was asleep, and I didn't mean to.' Sherlock looked like he was disgusted with himself. Molly's mouth was a shocked round 'o'. 'You… you were sleeping in the same bed..' she stammered.

'I couldn't sleep'

'Apparently you could' Mycroft cut in, with just a hint of malice, but something that sounded like amusement.

'I shouldn't have taken advantage by letting you sleep in my bed, I.. it was stupid, sorry' John had calmed down a lot by now, and looked a little ashamed himself.

'Why would you be taking advantage of me?' Sherlock looks confused for a moment.

'Who else would I be taking advantage of?' John looks as confounded as Sherlock does, and it makes for quite a humorous scene.

'John… I..' Sherlock looked uncertainly at Sarah, and then back at John 'I thought…'

Sarah smiled and let out a little laugh 'You think John's in love with _me_' There was a stunned silence throughout the room and Sherlock looked like he has just been proved wrong by Anderson.

'You sleep at her house, and you keep clothes there, and you're always talking about her' John was suddenly filled with relief and a smile broke out on his face. 'She's my best friend Sherlock, and she's a close colleague'

Sherlock looked confused again 'But, you gave me that whole speech John, about an office romance'

'That was a _metaphor!_' John was properly smiling by now and continued by saying 'Do you think I let _just anyone _sleep in my bed?'

'Do you think I write songs for _just anyone?_'

'Sherlock, sometimes you are so spectacularly ignorant' John moved towards him.

'I think we call all agree that you're both morons' smiled Sarah. And then suddenly John and Sherlock were hugging and Sherlock's arms were wrapped around John and John was breathing in Sherlock's musky scent. 'I don't want to move out' John murmured into Sherlock's chest. 'So don't, move in with me, into my room' and then their lips were together and Sherlock's mouth was warm and he tasted faintly of pasta and wine and John just wanted to explore his mouth forever but then Lestrade was talking and… 'Guys…_guys' _

John pulled back and then buried his face in Sherlock's neck. They stood there a little longer before breaking apart, and although John would have liked to drag Sherlock into his bedroom right there and then, they couldn't really kick out their guests quite yet.


End file.
